Sacrifice For Survival

The rotor wash from the FEMA helicopter was a physical blow, a deafening symphony of survival above the screams of a collapsing Los Angeles.

My team was clambering aboard, but Matthew, my boyfriend, blocked the doorway, pistol raised.

"We are not leaving without Molly," he declared, his desperate resolve sealing our fate.

In my first life, I made the call: I tranquilized him, dragged him onto the chopper, and left Molly to the Shakers below.

I told myself it was for the greater good, a pragmatism that propelled me to rise through the ranks in the Green Zone.

Years later, Matthew found me.

He never forgave me for abandoning Molly.

He drugged me, dragged my numb body to the perimeter wall, and pushed me over a sheer drop into the Shaker-infested darkness, his last words chilling my soul: "Molly deserved to live."

The fall was terrifying, the impact final.

Then, I blinked.

The rotor wash was a physical blow.

The screams were deafening.

Matthew stood before me, pistol in hand: "We are not leaving without Molly."

I was back, on that same rooftop, on the day of evacuation.

This time, I knew everything.

And this time, the choice would be very different.

The rotor wash from the FEMA helicopter was a physical blow, trying to shove me off the rooftop. Below, Los Angeles was a symphony of screams and collapsing concrete. This was it, the final bird out.

My team, the people I' d saved, were already clambering aboard. All except one.

Matthew, my boyfriend, stood blocking the rooftop access door, a pistol gripped in his hand. His face was a mask of desperate resolve.

"We are not leaving without Molly," he stated, his voice barely audible over the chopper and the chaos.

"Matt, she' s not coming," I yelled, my voice raw. "The comms are dead, the building is surrounded. We have to go now!"

"No! I promised her. We wait."

This was my first life. In that life, I argued, I pleaded. I saw the pilot giving me the final signal, the swarm of "Shakers" scaling the lower floors. I made a choice. I pulled the tranquilizer gun from my thigh holster, a tool for handling panicked civilians, and shot him in the neck.

He crumpled, and my medic, a former National Guard named Davis, helped me drag his dead weight onto the chopper. I left Molly to her fate. I told myself it was for the greater good.

We made it to the Green Zone in Arizona. Years passed. I rose through the ranks, my knowledge of geology and the Shaker parasite making me invaluable. I was about to lead a massive operation to reclaim the West Coast.

The night before, Matthew found me in my quarters. He brought me a drink. He never forgave me.

"For us," he said, his eyes holding a chilling emptiness I hadn't seen before.

I drank it. The drug was fast, powerful. My limbs went numb, my vision blurred. He dragged me, just as I had dragged him years ago. He pulled me to the perimeter wall, a sheer drop into the Shaker-infested darkness.

His last words echoed in my ears as he pushed me over.

"Molly deserved to live. Now you get to feel what she felt."

The fall was terrifying. The impact was final.

Then, I blinked.

The rotor wash was a physical blow. The screams were deafening. Matthew was standing in front of the rooftop door, pistol in hand.

"We are not leaving without Molly," he said.

I was back. I was on the rooftop, on the day of the evacuation. This time, I knew everything. And this time, I would make a very different choice.

The team was in a full-blown panic. Davis, my medic, was screaming at Matthew.

"Are you insane? We have thirty seconds before that pilot leaves us for dead!"

"Shut up, Davis! We wait for Molly!" Matthew brandished the pistol, waving it at the rest of the team.

The pilot' s voice crackled over my headset, a final, desperate plea. "Dr. Clarkson, I can' t hold! I have to lift off!"

In my first life, this was when I tranquilized him. This time, I held up a hand, a gesture of calm that shocked everyone into silence. I walked towards Matthew, my face a carefully constructed mask of understanding.

"He' s right," I said, my voice steady and clear.

The entire team stared at me as if I' d just sprouted a second head.

"What?" Davis gasped.

I put a hand on Matthew' s arm. "We' re a team. We don' t leave people behind. We' ll wait."

Matthew looked at me, his frantic eyes softening with a flicker of surprise and gratitude. He lowered the pistol slightly. "See? Gabby gets it."

The team was horrified, but my authority, combined with Matthew' s armed insistence, was enough. They backed away from the chopper, their faces a mixture of betrayal and fear.

As if on cue, the rooftop door burst open. Molly Fuller stumbled through, dragging a massive, ridiculously impractical Louis Vuitton duffel bag. Her makeup was smeared, but her hair was perfect.

"Oh my god, you guys waited!" she squealed, completely oblivious to the tension. "I couldn' t just leave my stuff, you know?"

At that exact moment, the world lurched violently. A massive aftershock, stronger than any we' d felt so far, tore through the city. The last defensive barricade at the base of the building crumbled with a deafening roar.

The pilot on the chopper didn' t hesitate. With a final, regretful look, he pulled pitch. The Black Hawk surged into the sky, its sound fading into the cacophony of the dying city.

We were stranded.

The silence on the roof was broken only by the growing, guttural roar of the Shaker horde now pouring into our building' s lobby.